Fight me, Ignite me
by Vofastudum
Summary: She's not that kind of a girl! But with him? She's not sure. For him? She can make no promises


She was never a girl to do things like this.

Never the one to fall into it so easily.

Never a girl to be fooled with.

But here she is.

In the same muggle park, outside of London, waiting for him.

She hates it really.

To be this weak! To always return. To be the one to wait!

Because not once has she been certain he's coming.

And yet she's here, waiting and however pathetic it sounds, hoping he'll come.

He's like an addiction she can't fight.

A magnet pulling her to him no matter how she tries to fight back.

He's inevitable. Uncontrollable.

And without him, she feels she's wilting.

It's insane.

Immoral and unforgivable.

But she's still here.

Still under this same tree in the shadows of the twilight.

Waiting for him.

Because she's weak.

And the want, the need, is too strong!

Too much for her to stand against.

She fought a war, but she can't fight desire.

How pathetic.

She should never have let him under her skin.

Under her.

Should never have given herself a taste.

But she did.

And with that one taste, she was hooked.

.

.

.

She was never meant to meet him.

He was never supposed to be there!

She was never supposed to storm out of her apartment after another fight with Ron and end up in the muggle club with Ginny.

She was never supposed to be there either!

But she was.

And he was.

And that's how it started.

There were champagne and tequila.

More than one shot of vodka and more than one drink of gin and tonic.

There were more than a few people, and the music was more than loud.

She felt more than lonely, even with her friend as a company.

But the loneliness drowned in the alcohol. The anger dissolved in the glass she was holding.

And then all that was left, was the boom of the bass and the flashing of the lights.

Bodies covered in sweat dancing on the packed dance floor and the absolution of alcohol in her veins.

Ron would have disapproved her behavior.

She had never left like that.

Or even when she had, she'd come back an hour later and apologize.

But that was the problem.

It was always her. Always her apology and his forgiveness.

Never the other way around.

Never.

And tonight, she didn't want to care.

Let him find her for a chance.

And if not. Let it be his loss.

She did love him.

He was her best friend.

But she felt empty.

After everything, they went through.

The war and the dying and the recovery.

She felt like she didn't know where she wanted her life to take her.

He wanted a family.

But she was only twenty!

Too young, she told him.

And he said he was ready to wait.

But still, she was almost sure it was the very thing that made a rift between them.

Prevented them from finding each other in a way they once did.

Left her hollow and in need of something she couldn't put a name on.

But she loved him.

And she couldn't leave him.

Because who was she without him?

Even now, dancing her heart away, alcohol pumping in her veins and the music electrifying her body, she felt the same hollowness.

The feeling of being completely alone.

Ginny leaves for toilet and she's left on the dance floor, surrounded by strangers.

But it doesn't matter.

She lets herself drown into the bass and the flicker of lights.

The song changes and suddenly there's a hard body pressed against her back.

Strong arms grab her hips as he moves with her.

She doesn't mind.

This is a club, people dance. She could excuse herself if she wanted.

But the heat is what she needs at the moment.

So, she carries on dancing.

The stranger behind her, moves her hair away from her neck and whispers in her ear, "fancy seeing you here, Granger."

His voice makes her flip around.

And then she's facing him.

His hands are still on her hips.

They're still moving, but the world around her has muted.

Maybe it's the alcohol, or the heat, or the proximity of him, but he looks different than in her memories.

She should push him away, slap him, tell him to fuck off and leave her alone.

But the commands don't register in her brain as they should.

Nothing about him registers as it should.

His eyes are dark, his blond hair a mess and he's wearing a white shirt with rolled sleeves.

He looks better than she remembers him looking.

The spots where his hands touch her hips send jolts electricity all over her body.

No matter how she tries to think that it's him!

Her body reacts like he's just another attractive man seeking her attention.

That's when she decides not to care.

She could act like he's just another attractive man on the dance floor of a Muggle club.

She could be careless because in the end, she's with Ron and she's going to leave with Ginny and return home and this could be just dancing anyway.

So, she just locks her eyes with him and starts to move again.

Try me… she tells him with her eyes… I dare you.

And they dance, the only way they know how to: like it's a competition.

She's not sure what's the price, or what are they trying to do to each other.

But his hands never leave her hips, and she shakes and grinds, and he matches her every move.

She has never danced with anyone like that.

Ron doesn't dance.

And what reason has she had to dance like this with other men.

But this is Draco Malfoy and when it comes to him, there's always something to prove.

She doesn't see Ginny again that night.

And Ginny doesn't see her.

Thank god!

All she sees is him.

And all there is, is his body against hers and his hands on her hips and the rhythm.

"I need to get air!" She yells to his ear after what feels like hours and then, without thinking what she's doing, she takes his hand and pulls him out to the summer air.

She doesn't know why.

And maybe she never will.

But she doesn't stop there but pulls him to an alley behind the building and drags him to an alcove of a door.

Like someone might catch them.

Like they were doing something forbidden.

He looks at her with his darkened grey eyes.

Doesn't say a word, but the look is amused.

And she starts to laugh.

Uncontrollably and happily.

Because she feels unreal and crazy and…free.

"Hello, I'm Hermione Granger." She tells and offers him her hand.

Like she doesn't know him.

Like he doesn't know her.

Who knows, maybe they really don't, know each other.

Especially not like this.

He plays along and takes her hand, "Draco Malfoy."

It's not exactly a handshake.

And he doesn't let go as he should.

"You're a great dancer, Mr. Malfoy." She looks at him boldly, not even trying to pull her hand away.

If there was any sense left in her, she'd run.

Because the feelings in her chest are like a roaring flame.

The flickers his touch sends through her - It's like hellfire.

Like something she has no control over, something she can't stop.

He smirks, "I had an excellent partner."

She lifts her eyebrow. Very much aware, that she's standing way too close.

Ron. She tries to think.

But again, the words don't register as they should.

Her eyes dip to his lips.

She never lived through a life where you could hook up with a random stranger in a bar.

She never had any interest in things like that.

Except he's not a random stranger.

And she still isn't free to do things like that.

But why is the taste of his lips the only thing invading her mind at the moment?

"Granger…" Her drawls.

She lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

And the next thing she knows, though only vaguely, is that they're kissing.

He's pulling her to him, sliding his hands on her hips.

She's charged.

Electrified from head to toe.

His touch sends lightings through her body, making her feel like she's going to burst out of her skin.

She's mindless.

And completely out of control.

His tongue parts her lips as he pushes her against the tiles of the wall.

She lets him.

Does her share.

Grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him closer to her.

Moans against his mouth when his hand cups her breast.

The time she should have told him to stop, the time she should have backed away is long gone.

She has already floated too far in the open sea.

The shore is nowhere to be found.

So, she lets the waves drown her.

Not surrender!

She'll never surrender! Not to him! To anyone!

Everything they do is competition.

It used to be a competition of hate.

Now it's a competition of lust. Of lips and tongues and hips and hands.

And there's no way to tell who's winning.

"Do you want to get out of here?" He whispers, trailing his lips against the skin of her throat.

No! That's what she should say.

NOOOOO!

But she does.

She's too far past the point of no return.

So, she nods.

And then they're in his bed.

In between silky sheets as slick as her morals.

She has only ever been with one man.

And that one man, never made her feel quite like this.

Like she's floating on water, flying in the air and burning with fire, all three at the same time.

There's no hesitation in her hands either.

Like she knows how to touch him.

Even though how could she know?

She doesn't even know him.

Yet the way he touches her is like he knows exactly how to touch her.

Like he knows exactly how to make her forget everything else.

And then he fucks her. Like no one ever did before.

Slides her hands above her head and forces her to look at him as he enters her.

It's a gift and a punishment.

It's tender and rough and all-consuming.

He makes her forget everything. Everything! As their bodies move together.

She claws his back and he bites her lip and sucks her neck, her chest, her breasts.

And if she was in her right mind, she'd know they'll both be scarred tomorrow.

That bites like that, are not easy to cover.

But she's not.

He flicks them around in a sitting position and pulls her hard against him.

Then he buries his hand to her hair and makes her look at him again.

"My name, Granger." He breathes out as he thrusts into her.

She's shivering above him… the waves of pleasure rolling through her, like the storm they ignited in the bar is reaching its breaking point.

"Say it." He orders.

And she obeys because it's the only thing she can do anymore: to scream.

And he follows her suit. Burying his face to her neck.

.

.

.

It's been six months.

And she's here.

And she is still cheating on her boyfriend.

And he has a fiancée for Christ sake!

And still, she can't stay away.

He is fire and ice and water.

Burning hot, freezing cold and flowing like a liquid.

Hellfire and holy water.

And she can't let him go.

No matter how she tried.

She couldn't.

So, she's the other woman, and he's the other man.

And no one has any idea of the double life they live.

It should hurt her to hurt the ones she loves.

But it doesn't.

Because letting him go, would hurt more.


End file.
